The Celebration of Chain

Candlelight and polished silver glistened in House Malven's grand ballroom. The union of Kael Rennar and Elira Malven, who is now Elira Rennar, was a reason to celebrate that night. Under soaring chandeliers, nobles from all the great houses mixed together, their whispers sharp and their smiles painted.

In winter moonlight-colored silk, Elira stood close to the head of the ballroom. Now she wore the silver-stitched Rennar crest over her heart. But it felt colder than before.

"It's amazing how quickly a scandal can become a celebration," purred Lady Virelle of House Denar, twirling her glass of crimson wine. "She is Lady Rennar now after abandoned in the square before."

Elira could plainly hear her words, which were hardly more than a whisper. 

She kept doing it—even though it hadn't always been this way.

Every sharpened sense, every unnerving awareness... it all traced back to him. To that first moment in the library with Thane. The scent of citrus and ink—Thane's scent—flashed in her memory, clashing with the perfumed of the ballroom

But how? And why?

Even she didn't have the answers.

 Elira's cheeks flushed in the shade as a chorus of courteous laughter ensued. Nevertheless, she maintained her stance with a refined elegance.

With a slick of laughter, Lord Aven remarked, "That one must be made of steel." 

"Or ice."

"Is there a difference?" Lady Virelle quipped.

Elira wears the mask as habit now—elegance, distance, control. And yet something tonight feel wrong.

It began with the scent.

She couldn't name it, only that the moment she stepped through the arched doors of the ballroom, her pulse had jumped—wild, inexplicable. Her gaze had swept across the crowd and caught on him.

Kael.

Her absent husband, war-hero turned political shadow, stood at the far end of the room. Dressed in sharp black, not yet acknowledging her. Yet something in him—his stillness, the way his eyes cut toward her before glancing away again—made her breath catch.

She knew him—somehow—before their eyes ever locked.

His scent coiled under her skin, cold and razor-edged, whispering to something primal in her blood. Chilling. Dangerous.

Ridiculous.

Yet Kael moved like shadowed steel, his presence a slow, circling threat. A hunter. A promise.

And she—she was the prey.

Elira stood poised on the marble floor like a sculpture carved from intent. Her gown clung to her form with the elegance expected of a Malven daughter, her face framed by the cold, distant gleam in her eyes. But beneath her composed surface, something stirred. A faint itch under her skin. The press of too many bodies, the overwhelming scents—perfume, sweat, wine, blood—threatened to overpower her senses.

She flinched ever so slightly as a noblewoman passed too close, the scent of jasmine and musk cutting through the air like smoke in her lungs. Her ears caught a whisper too far across the room, her heart thudded with unnatural sharpness in her chest.

Kael noticed. Of course he did. And then he was there—close, silent, a storm in a black coat.

He had been watching her—subtly, deliberately. The way her pupils dilated too wide in the dim light. The way her breath shortened near the hunting hounds stationed near the back door. Her stillness wasn't discipline—it was the pause before the lunge. The breath before the bite.

He leaned down slightly. "You're tense," he said softly, eyes on the crowd, not her. "The music's too loud?"

"It's... distracting," she replied, startled by the honesty of her voice.

Kael's glance sharpened for a moment, then softened. He said nothing more, but his hand brushed hers again, deliberate. Her skin was warmer than it had been earlier—feverish, almost. She drew her hand away.

Princess Ilyana approached, full of honeyed grace—the delicate, gracious jewel of the court. Draped in blush-colored silk that glowed against her warm brown curls and radiant smile, she looked every bit the beloved symbol of the kingdom's golden age.

"Commander Kael," Ilyana greeted, her voice dipped in affection, though her words were addressed to them both. "Lady Elira. What a sight you two make tonight. I imagine this is what the poets will speak of—ice and fire bound together. You both look radiant tonight. It's comforting to see you together" there is an edge on her voice when she mention the two of them.

Kael bowed his head with polite neutrality. "Your Highness. It's an honor, as always."

Elira offered a slight nod, eyes unreadable.

"I must admit," the princess continued, her tone sweet as honey yet edged with something harder, "it was a surprise when the announcement of your marriage came. Many thought..." Her gaze lingered on Kael with warmth that might have once meant more. "Well, many had expectations." She deliberately make her words hanging.

There was a beat of silence. Just long enough for it to sting.

Kael's reply was impeccably diplomatic. "Duty and honor rarely consult the heart, Your Highness."

The princess's smile remained, but her lashes lowered just enough to suggest her real sentiment. "Still, it must be difficult to balance such a... strategic match with personal sentiment. I do hope, for Lady Elira's sake, that she doesn't feel left behind."

The dagger was velvet-wrapped, but it sank deep.

"The kingdom rests easier knowing its protector has found companionship. I imagine the adjustment to domestic life after so many years on the battlefield has been... delicate?"

Elira's fingers tensed ever so slightly around the stem of her wine glass. "Kael adapts to duty with admirable resolve."

"Of course," Ilyana said, turning to Kael. "Still, I hope there's room for tenderness, even in duty."

Kael gave no reply, only a slight nod that could have meant anything. Ilyana's smile didn't falter. Her eyes said what her lips did not.

Ilyana accidentally tripped.

The wine arced through the air—a dark red splash across Elira's gown. Gasps rippled through the ballroom.

"Oh, my bad." The princess fluttered her fingers over her lips, all wide-eyed innocence. But the smirk tugging at her mouth? That was no accident.

The cloying wine scent choked her. Her vision hazed gold, Her canines ached—not with pain, but pressure, as if her body remembered a shape her mind hadn't yet claimed.

—until Kael's hand clamped her wrist. 

His other hand stayed hidden behind his back—where the silver ring glinted, cold and deliberate, on his finger.

"Breathe," he ordered, low and rough. "Not here."

Elira blinked. Human again. Then pushed his hand away.

A mistake, to steady her. But if she broke here, in front of them all—what then? A scandal? Or a hunt?

 Ilyana still smirked, oblivious.

The silence lingered for a beat too long before she excused herself to greet another cluster of nobles. Ilyana's gloved fingers brushed Kael's sleeve as she left—a touch too familiar, a glance too knowing.

As she floated away, the faint scent of lilies followed.

Later, after Elira changed her gown with a new one, whispers slithered through the air, sharp and deliberate. The same echos noble always says about Elira's vilainy.

"She ensnared him, that Malven girl. Cold as ice, no wonder he keeps to himself."

"The princess and Commander looked so natural together. It's a shame politics gets in the way of love."

"Imagine if she weren't in the picture—what a pair Ilyana and Kael would make."

Elira heard it all.

She didn't flinch, but something primal stirred—a coil tightening low in her spine. Her hearing sharpened, picking out individual heartbeats, the rasp of silk gloves against crystal stems. Her pupils constricted, a flicker too fast to catch. The corner of her mouth pulled taut with restraint as her nails—short and manicured—dug half-moons into the skin of her palm.

When a cluster of noble ladies who had gossiping about her passed within earshot, giggling behind fans, Elira turned smoothly toward them.

"Is it common practice," she said coolly, her voice edged like a blade, "to gossip about the wife of a war hero while standing on her family's marble floors and drinking her family's wine?"

The ladies fell silent, flushed and stiff, curtsying awkwardly before retreating. They are taken aback knowing that Elira could even heard their conversation at such distance.

Elira stood still, chin high. Heart steady—but too steady. Too aware. She could hear the blood rushing in their veins as they scurried away. She exhaled slowly, counting backward to keep herself tethered.

Then Kael returned, his expression unreadable. He'd been summoned earlier by another noble—a conversation of congratulations for both the war he'd won and the marriage he was bound for.

Now, as he stepped silently to her side, the remaining nobles turned their eyes on them once more

Elira didn't look at him. She didn't have to.

"You're burning up now," he murmured low, for her ears alone. There was no judgment—just quiet observation. Testing. She knew that voice—calm, unreadable. But tonight, something subtle broke through it. Just barely.

Elira blinked. His gloved hand ghosted against hers—barely a touch—but enough.

Her skin felt too tight. Her senses too sharp.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice came a fraction late.

Kael knew better.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His arm slid around her waist—not affection, not performance, but a claim. A silent anchor.

She welcomed the pressure. His touch was cool. Certain. Human. It cut through the heat building under her skin. Possessive, but not controlling. It feel rather protective.

Without asking, he placed a steady hand on the small of her back and guided her away from the crowd. His grip firm. Subtle. Intentional. Like a shield between her and the silk-wrapped knives.

Elira's breath caught—but she held her pose, regal and cold. She did not flinch. Kael leaned in slightly.

"I hope it grounded you now?" he murmured again, closer.

Elira didn't meet his gaze, but a sliver of a smile tugged at her lip.

"Almost."

Kael stood beside her in stillness. His gloved fingers ghosted against hers—subtle, steady. He'd felt the heat in her skin earlier, seen the way her pupils flared too wide, too fast. The way silence fell around her when she spoke.

She had masked it well. Most wouldn't have noticed.

But he did.

Not just the fury.

The restraint.

She hadn't lashed out—but she'd wanted to. It pulsed beneath her skin, coiled and quiet. Not human rage. Something older. Deeper.

A part of her didn't know it yet.

Kael's hand slipped further at her back again, grounding her—and, perhaps, reminding himself.

He let his voice fall low. Calm.

"You held yourself together."

Her breath came slow. Composed. "I always do."

He didn't respond. Just watched the soft rise of her shoulders, the elegant stillness she wore like armor.

The mask was seamless. But he could see the seams.

He'd hunted wolves long enough to know when one was trying not to howl. He'd seen the signs before. The too-sharp stillness. The wild pulse beneath skin.

And now, one wore a ring with his name on her finger.